


Was It Even Real?

by DeansDirtyLittleSecret



Series: Professor Dean Winchester AU [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Oral Sex, Professor Dean Winchester, Reader-Insert, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 04:32:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4692224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeansDirtyLittleSecret/pseuds/DeansDirtyLittleSecret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The reader has a new job and Professor Winchester knows the visiting professor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Was It Even Real?

“This is Y/N,” you answered your phone as you made your way across campus to your dorm room. You had your jacket zipped all the way to the neck, but you were still shivering. Fall in the midwest sucked. Just yesterday you’d had on shorts.

“Hi, this Meg Masters from The Percolator,” the woman on the other end said.

“Meg, hi, how are you?” you smiled, hoping your pleasant attitude was noticeable even through the phone. You were getting desperate for a job and Meg’s little coffee shop off campus was your last hope. You had begun to worry that she didn’t like you after not hearing from her after your interview.

Apparently Meg had liked you though, liked you enough to hire you anyway. You happily agreed to work for her three or four nights a week, starting immediately. You promised to be at the shop by six. Once you’d hung up with Meg, you sent a quick message to Dean, canceling your dinner plans, promising to make it up to him later. Always supportive, he sent you a kissy smiley face promptly followed by one sticking its tongue out. You laughed and shoved your phone into your pocket, bracing yourself for the start of Professor Singer’s class. You might need another cup of coffee to get through it.

* * *

Two weeks later, you had made enough coffee to last you a lifetime. In every incarnation imaginable. It was amazing the crap people would order in their coffees. You’d always thought the sugar and flavored creamer you got was a little much, but you’d never think that again. You were starting to wish everyone drank their coffee like Dean. Black.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying not to think too much about Professor Winchester. You’d hardly seen him since taking the job at The Percolator and you missed him. Of course, that hadn’t been the plan when you’d taken the job.

Right after you’d started, one of the other employees, Tracy, had quit, without any of notice. You’d willingly stepped in, working extra hours to cover Tracy’s shifts. Meg had promised you it would only be for a few days, but she hadn’t been able to hire anybody right away, so you were still working five or six nights a week instead of the three or four you’d been hired for.

Consequently, you hadn’t seen Dean since the day before you’d taken the job. Hurried text messages and a few late night phone calls was all you’d been able to manage. He’d started some special project for the university president, one you hadn’t even had a chance to ask him about. You only knew it was keeping him busy, forcing him to work longer hours than normal. It seemed like everything was working in conjunction to keep you apart. You were getting desperate to spend some time with him.

“Could you hand me the vanilla syrup?” Brady, Meg’s son, asked. As usual, he was too close, his mouth just inches from your ear.

You handed the syrup to him, taking a couple steps away at the same time. Brady had been flirting with you since you’d started, not even trying to be subtle about it. You were just waiting for him to ask you out. You had a feeling he was biding his time, simply waiting until you had been at the coffee shop a while before making a move.

The worst thing about the entire situation was that you couldn’t tell Brady no because you had a boyfriend, one that you were in love with, one that you were serious about. You couldn’t really tell him anything. If you told him you had a boyfriend, he probably wouldn’t believe you, after all what kind of boyfriend didn’t come see his girlfriend at work (the kind you had to keep a secret). It was getting more and more awkward every day. You were going to have to think of something and soon.

You worked another uncomfortable hour with Brady, doing your best to avoid him as much as humanly possible. When Meg finally breezed through the door, you were more than ready to leave. She gave her son a quick one armed hug and you a pleasant smile, then she pulled the stack of cups from your hand.

“Go, Y/N,” she said. “I’ve got this. Go do whatever it is you do.” She smiled and winked at you.

You nodded, backing away and pulling your cell phone from your back pocket at the same time. You texted Dean, hoping and praying he was home. It was early, only seven, and you wanted to take advantage of the rest of the evening.

It took him longer than you’d hoped to answer and it wasn’t exactly the answer you wanted. He was still at the university, having picked up a class for another professor who was out with the flu. He promised he’d be home as soon class was over.

“Please be there when I get home,” his message read. “I need to see you. I’ve missed you.”

* * *

You let yourself into Dean’s house, entering through the back door as usual. The house was dark, just one small lamp lit in the living room. You headed directly for the stairs and Dean’s bedroom.

You dropped your purse and jacket on the chair in the corner, kicked off your shoes and threw yourself face down on Dean’s neatly made bed, pulling his pillow under your head. You inhaled deeply, Dean’s scent filling your nose, making you smile. God, you missed him, needed him, hadn’t realized how badly until right this minute. Stupid, goddamn, adult responsibilities keeping you from spending time with the only person in the world you wanted to spend time with.

You laid sprawled across the bed for quite a while, but when you felt yourself starting to fall asleep, you forced yourself up and off the bed. You glanced at the clock. Hopefully, Dean would be home soon. But before he got here, you were going to shower. You didn’t need to see him for the first time in two weeks smelling like coffee.

You slipped under the warm water with a sigh, head tilted back, letting the water pour over you. You loved Dean’s shower, it was big and roomy and the water pressure was amazing. It was so much better than the crappy, tiny shower in your dorm room where you frequently slammed your elbows into the walls and knocked the shampoo bottles to the floor, or where it took ten minutes just rinse the conditioner out of your hair or where you had to step out dripping wet to even dry off. You could stand in here letting the water rush over you forever.

The door opened just a little bit and then Dean pushed his head in, that blindingly gorgeous smile of his spreading across his face, his green eyes sparkling. “This is the kind of thing I like to find in my house when I come home. My girlfriend, beautiful and naked in my shower.” He stepped into the bathroom, latched the door behind him and started stripping off his clothes. Once he was gloriously naked, he opened the shower door and stepped in behind you. He rested his hands on your hips, pulled you against his chest, and kissed your neck.

“Hi,” he murmured. His hands drifted over your body, soft, gentle, exploring you like he’d never touched you before.

“Hey,” you replied, relaxing against him. “I’m glad you’re home.”

“Me, too,” he chuckled. He grabbed the bottle of body wash from the shelf, pouring it into his hands. He lathered it slowly, his lips roaming over your neck and shoulders.

You watched the soap foaming in his hands, his fingers long and thick, perfect. He placed his hands on your breasts, cupping them as he traced circles over your nipples until they were hard and erect, drawing a low moan from you. He slid them down your body, over your stomach, in between your legs. He traced his fingers over the soft folds of skin, barely touching you, just enough to make you want more.

You could feel his cock trapped between your bodies, hard and throbbing. You pushed back against him, reveling in the quiet moan you felt rumbling through his chest. He stepped forward, holding you tight against his chest, rinsing the soap off of your bodies, then he reached over and turned off the faucet. He made quick work of getting the two of you out of the shower, mostly dried off and back in the bedroom. He half carried you, half dragged you to the bed, lying you across it, dropping his head to rain kisses over your stomach, his tongue sneaking out to lick at the droplets of water still scattered over your damp skin.

“Dean,” you gasped.

He shook his head, looking up to smile briefly at you, one eyebrow raised. He rubbed his beard against the inside of your thighs, the feeling making you squirm.

“Professor Winchester,” you murmured. Dean licked his lips, the smile widening noticeably.

You barely heard the ‘I love it when you call me that’ before his head was between your legs, his mouth against your pussy, his hot breath blowing against it. You pushed yourself closer to him, wanting that damn mouth of his on you, wanting those full, pink, unbelievable lips on you.

Dean chuckled low in the back of his throat and then he was licking you, flattening his tongue as he licked you from top to bottom, pulling it back just as he reached your clit, lapping it lightly with the tip of his tongue.

Your hips seemed to move on their own, pushing up off of the bed and into Dean’s face. You grabbed the back of his head with one hand, pulling him closer. If there was one thing you knew, it was that Dean could get you to come fast and hard when his mouth was on you. The anticipation alone was enough to make you wiggle shamelessly with need. And you’d been thinking about it for days, missing it for days, wanting it for days. So much so that you were ready to get off now, ready to come right now, without much work on Dean’s part.

But you should have known that Professor Winchester would have different ideas. He enjoyed watching you come undone beneath him, enjoyed the moans and the whimpers and the way you would clutch desperately at anything near you, like you were trying to ground yourself. He laid his arm across your stomach, holding you down on the bed, his tongue lazily circling your clit, then sliding through the lips of your pussy before starting over again. It didn’t take long before you were begging for more, begging him not to tease, to just do something already.

Dean slid his hand underneath you, resting it on the top of your ass and your lower back, effortlessly lifting you as his mouth covered you, his lips wrapping around your clit, suckling it just the tiniest bit, enough to make your eyes roll back in your head, before releasing it to slid his tongue inside you, stabbing it in and out so quickly that you weren’t even sure it had happened. He did it again, the tip of his finger slipping in as well, brushing it right over your sweet spot, slow and easy, again and again, until you thought you might pass out from the sheer ecstasy of it. He pushed your knees open as wide as they would go, pulling your hips toward him, his tongue inside you, his hands on your hips, urging you to move, encouraging you to fuck yourself on his oh-so-talented tongue.

Your brain shut down and instinct took over. Your body seemed to move on its own volition, rocking against him, his tongue moving in and out of you, his fingers, two of them now, pressing against that spot inside you, stars exploding behind your eyelids as you came, the pleasure so good it was painful. You were white-knuckling the blankets on the bed, screaming incoherently as you came repeatedly, Dean not letting up, that mouth of his fucking you into oblivion, until you were a quivering, blubbering mess spread out across his bed.

He released you, kissing your thighs, moving up your body, his lips soft and wet. He took your breast into his mouth, his stomach resting against your throbbing pussy, your clit a hard, swollen nub. He rolled your nipple in his mouth, biting it just hard enough to make you gasp, his body pressing into you, pushing you right over the edge into another orgasm.

You were barely coming down before Dean was sliding his cock into you with a soft grunt, his hips rolling into yours, burying himself in your warmth. He pulled your leg around his waist, the angle perfect and mind-blowing. You rocked against each other, the sounds of your lovemaking filling the room - skin brushing against skin, quiet moans, low growls of pleasure. Dean caught your lips in his, his tongue slipping past your lips, sucking your tongue into his mouth. Your own taste flooded your mouth, along with the unmistakable flavor of Dean. You moaned, the sensory overload almost too much to handle.

You came for the third time, Dean hips pistoning rapidly as your walls clenched around him, and then he was coming too, groaning as his own orgasm moved through him, his entire body tensing. He collapsed beside you, holding you as close as possible, kissing you over and over. You snuggled into him, wanting to stay there forever.

“I want ice cream,” Dean muttered.

“Ice cream?” you giggled. So much for post-coital cuddling.

“Yeah,” he said. He placed a soft kiss to your cheek, then he padded out of the room, not a stitch of clothing on him.

You pulled the sheet up over you and tucked a pillow behind your head. You could hear Dean downstairs, cupboards and drawers opening, then a few minutes later he was back with a huge bowl of ice cream. He dropped to the bed next to you, grinning, and offered you a heaping spoonful of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream.

You shook your head, content to watch him. He enjoyed ice cream the same way he enjoyed sex. He devoured it, his eyes closed just the tiniest bit as he hummed in satisfaction. He’d slide the spoon past his lips, a slight smile on his face, then he’d pull it out slowly, sighing as he swallowed the sweet cream. By the time he got to the last couple of spoonfuls, his lips were pinker than usual and you could see goosebumps all over his naked skin. Unexpected heat pooled in the pit of your stomach.

“Christ,” you mumbled. How was it that this man could make the simple act of eating ice cream a sexual experience?

“What?” he asked, glancing at you as he took the last spoonful of ice cream. There was a small drop at the corner of his mouth, but before he could wipe it off, you stretched up and licked it, your tongue dancing across his lips. You moved to straddle him, taking his head in your hands and kissing him with all you’ve got. His mouth was cold and warm at the same time, you could taste the ice cream, but you could also taste Dean, so sweet, so perfect, so everything. You heard the bowl hit the floor beside the bed and then Dean made you forget that anything but him even existed.

* * *

You wanted to stay in bed all day, Dean’s body wrapped around yours, his warmth surrounding you. Unfortunately, the awkward chirping of your cell phone just as the sun was coming up pulled you from the best sleep you’d had in days.

You tried to answer it before it stopped ringing, to no avail. Instead you listened to Meg’s frantic voicemail. The new girl they’d finally hired to replace Tracy had called in sick and could you please, please, just this once come in and cover her Saturday morning shift? As you listened, Dean stirred behind you, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before going into the bathroom. You watched him get dressed as you returned Meg’s call, promising you’d be in as soon as you were cleaned up.

Dean was sitting at the table, nursing a huge cup of coffee when you came in, dressed for work. You grinned sheepishly at him, stopping by his side to put a hand on his shoulder and press a kiss to his lips, scratching your fingers over his beard when he leaned his head into your hand.

“Got a minute?” he asked. “I need to talk to you about something.”

You checked the clock on the stove, then slid into the chair beside him. “You’ve got five minutes.” Your stomach was tied in knots. Nothing good ever came from an ‘I need to talk to you’ conversation.

“There’s a professor I used to work with coming to the university next week,” Dean explained. “Mr. Shurley asked me to take the lead in setting up her guest lectures, helping out by showing her around, making sure she’s comfortable during the time she’s here. That’s why I’ve been working so much the last couple of weeks.”

You barely heard what else he said because your brain was stuck on the word ‘her.’ As in a female professor. A female professor that Dean knew. You forced yourself to take a deep breath and relax. After all, he was older than yo, and he had lived a life before you had come into the picture. Of course he knew other women, other professors. It didn’t mean anything.

“Okay,” you said slowly. “How do you know her?”

“She and I dated when I lived in Italy, for almost six months,” he said, so quietly you barely heard him.

You froze, your heart stuttering to a near stop. You had to force yourself to take a breath, to not freak out like your head was screaming at you to do. You folded your hands together, squeezing them tight. There was only one question you had to have an answer to.

“Did you love her?” you asked.

“No,” Dean said, just a little too quickly. “No, I didn’t love her.” The words leaving his mouth didn’t match the look on his face. For the first time since you’d started dating the professor, you were positive he was lying to you.

You opened your mouth to say something, you weren’t even sure what exactly, but whatever it was, it needed to be said, but instead “I have to go,” came out. Dean followed you out the back door, walking across the yard with you, holding your hand, his eyes roaming over your face, searching for something, though you weren’t sure what. He pulled you into his arms at the gate, kissing you for so long that you finally had to pull away, muttering about being late for work. He squeezed your fingers, drawing a promise of a text or a call before he let you go.

You walked to your car in a daze, not even remembering how you got there, because you were too busy screaming at yourself in your head, trying to remember that Dean loved you, Dean was with you, that someone he’d dated God-knew-how-long-ago didn’t matter anymore. Unfortunately, you weren’t doing a very good job of convincing yourself of anything. Every doubt you had, every insecurity you felt was pushing itself to the forefront and reminding you of all the reasons you’d ever thought Dean should have for not loving you. You could feel yourself spiraling into a whirlpool of doubt and you weren’t sure you could stop yourself from drowning in it.

* * *

Professor Bela Talbot. That was her name, the visiting professor Dean had been assigned to help, the visiting professor Dean had once dated. You finally managed to catch a glimpse of her one morning when she breezed into The Percolator, smiling and laughing, Dean in tow.

You nearly dropped the coffee pot in your hand when you turned around and saw him standing at the counter, a not-unattractive woman standing beside him, smiling at him like he was the only person in the world. Smiling at him like only you were allowed to smile at him.

Fortunately for you, Brady hurried over to help them, because you weren’t sure you would have been able to form words, especially when she put her hand on his arm to draw his attention back to her, or when you heard her lilting British accent, a sound that made you want to scream in frustration.

Dean, at least, looked uncomfortable. He was staring at you, a pained expression on his face. When he finally managed to catch your eye, he grinned hopefully, one eyebrow raised. You gave him a tentative smile, one cut short by Bela squeezing his arm to get him to look at her. You could see Brady finishing up their drinks and you wanted to tackle him to the ground, make him drop them, something, just so you can draw Dean’s attention back to you. But Brady slid the drinks across the counter in record time and then Dean and the female professor were picking them up and heading for the door, Bela still talking a mile a minute. Just before they walked out, Dean turned back and winked at you. You weren’t even sure he saw the smile you offered in return.

“You going to any of her lectures?” Brady asked. “I heard she’s brilliant, really knows her stuff. Maybe we could go to one together?”

“No, I’m not going,” you muttered. You didn’t want to attend one of Professor Talbot’s lectures, spending the entire time thinking about the fact that she’d dated your Professor Winchester, that she knew what it was like to kiss him, that she probably knew what it was like to have sex with him. Yeah, so not going there. And to say you didn’t want to go with Brady was an understatement.   

You hadn’t had any intention of going to any of Bela’s guest lectures, choosing, wisely you thought, to avoid anything awkward by simply staying away. But thanks to your new History professor, Bob Singer, you were required to attend one of her lectures. Attend, pay attention and write a goddamn paper about it.  

The lecture was in, of all places, Professor Winchester’s classroom. You waited as long as you could before slipping in and taking a seat in the back, staring at the open door of his office, just barely able to catch a glimpse of him sitting at his desk. You knew he was facing that ugly plaid couch and somehow, you knew that Bela Talbot was sitting on it, and for some reason you couldn’t even begin to fathom, that thought made you jealous in ways you hadn’t even know existed.

You had to force yourself to listen to Professor Talbot’s lecture. You studiously took notes, trying to forget the fact that the woman standing in front of you had an intimate knowledge of the man you were in love with; that she knew how he laughed, how he talked to himself when he was working, how he took extra long, extra hot showers in the morning, how he was a bit of a neat freak, especially when it came to his kitchen, or how she had felt his lips kissing her or how she had heard that little moan he made deep in the back of his throat when he was turned on.

You brushed a hand over your face and through your hair, irritated that you couldn’t get those thoughts out of your head. You had no reason to dislike Bela, she was no longer a part of Dean’s life. You needed to quit acting like a jealous thirteen year old girl and accept that she had been a significant part of his life before you came along; it was the mature thing to do.

You made it to the end of the lecture, even managing to take enough notes that you thought you could construct a decent paper. You were packing your belongings into your backpack, trying to avoid making eye contact with Brady, when your cell vibrated on the desk. It was Dean.

“Stay for a minute?” it said.

You looked up, catching his eye. Professor Talbot was chatting with several students, Dean behind her leaning against the wall. He wiggled his fingers in a silent wave, smiling that smile that made your heart melt. You made your way down the stairs as the other students left, coming to a stop several feet away from Dean.

When the door closed behind the last student, Dean stepped up beside you and put his arm around you, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“H...hi,” you stammered in surprise, glancing at Professor Talbot.

“Bela, this is Y/N,” Dean said, his hand squeezing your waist and pulling you closer to his side.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Y/N,” Bela said calmly, a smile on her face. “Dean has talked about you non-stop since I arrived.” She shot a smile at Dean, then punched him lightly on the shoulder. “You’re right, she is gorgeous.” She pulled her bag onto her shoulder. “Make sure you take good care of him. I wasn’t sure he’d find another girlfriend after I broke up with him. He took it a lot harder than I thought he would. Who knew he fell in love so easily?” She hurried up the stairs, waving over her shoulder as she pushed open the door and left.

You turned to Dean, a knot of fear in your stomach. “You were in love with her?” you whispered. “You told me you weren’t.”

He took your hand and led you into his office, gesturing for you to sit down on the couch, sitting beside you. “I _was_ in love with her, Y/N,” he said. “I told you I wasn’t because I didn’t want to upset you. I didn’t want you to worry that I was still in love with her. Because I’m not. That part of my life is over.”

An idea had taken seed in your brain, one that wouldn’t let go. “When did she break up with you?” you asked.

“Why is it important, Y/N?” he muttered. He leaned forward, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

“When was it, Dean?” you insisted.

“A few weeks before I left Rome,” he answered. “And yes, before you ask, I did take it kind of hard. I thought I loved her.”

“Is that the reason you left Italy? Because the two of you broke up?” you murmured. You were afraid of the answer.

Dean turned to face you, taking your hand in his. “Yes,” he replied. “I needed to get away, get some distance. Sam told me about the position here, so I took it. It was the best thing I could have done. “ He moved closer to you and slipped his arm around your waist. “If I hadn’t left, I never would have met you.”

“Was I a...a...rebound thing?” You knew your voice was high and squeaky, scared.

“Y/N,” Dean sighed. “I love you.”

“That’s not what I asked,” you snapped. “I want to know if you asked me out because you were just looking for something meaningless and stupid to make you forget Bela. You’d been here, what, a couple of weeks, maybe, when we met at that party?”

Dean nodded, but he didn’t say a word, just stared at some spot over the top of your head.

“So, answer the question, Dean,” you bit out. “Was I a rebound thing? A chance at a quick fuck?”

“It might have started like that, but - ” he said quietly.

You pushed yourself off the couch, stumbling to the door, Dean right behind you, calling your name. He caught you before you made it out the door, his hand on your arm.

“Y/N, wait!” he begged. “Please, just wait a minute.”

You spun around, yanking your arm out of his hand. “Was any of this even real, Dean? Any of it? Everything I thought about you, everything I believed, it’s just...just…” Tears were sliding down your face, blurring your vision. “Maybe I’m just a convenient replacement for Bela, a replacement for the woman you loved that broke your heart.” You walked backward, moving away from Dean, trying not to see the heartbreak on his face. “I need some time, I need to think, I can’t...I can’t be near you right now.”

You ran, Dean’s voice an echo in your ears. You ran until you couldn’t breathe, ran until the blood was pounding in your ears and your legs were aching. You dropped to the ground under a tree, wrapped your arms around your legs and let the sobs take over. Every doubt, every insecurity about you and Dean that you had been fighting since finding out about Bela had now wrapped itself around your heart and wheedled its way into your brain. You weren’t even sure the professor did love you. Maybe none of it was real.

The cold seeped into you, making you numb. If only it could make your heart numb, too.

 


End file.
